


With a Kiss

by Heilith



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heilith/pseuds/Heilith





	With a Kiss

With a Kiss

This one was dying. One didn’t need to be a healer to see that. His breath was shallow, and the blood was seeping out of the open wounds incessantly. His whole body was glowing with the last effort to heal itself, to cling onto life, like it happened to each of your kind, you’d seen on the threshold of Mandos.

You would have left him long ago. Performing your duty was one thing, wasting your strengths with no effect – quite another. It was obvious he wouldn’t thrive on your help, and there were lots of other sufferers, requiring your attention. But he wouldn’t let your go. His frosty blue eyes wouldn’t shut for a moment, following you obstinately, with the absolute lack of expression, nor even that of the pain he was certainly coming through.

“What’s your name?” his voice was an ugly rasp.

You run a careless hand along his forehead. So very hot and dry. The moisture will come later, when you will be able to count his remaining moments in Arda on the fingers of one hand.

“Allasiel,” you tell him softly. Another lie to a dying fellow. They often asked for your name - those who would remain conscious before the agony would get a grip on them. You never let them know it. There was something ominous in letting them die with your true name on their lips and carry it beyond the grave.

Allasiel, Tuarwen, Herenya, Miriel. You always kept one up your sleeve, to have it slip out naturally.

The mouth of the wounded moved – he was repeating the lie soundlessly. The shining that surrounded him was starting to fade. You touched his forehead again, whispering the healing incantations out of the sheer habit. It seemed more merciful to stop holding him bound by them, but you were never the one to give up, no matter how hopeless the outlook was.

“Kiss me.”

It was not at once that you made out what he was saying. You leaned to him just because you’d heard him asking for something, without a second thought, hoping he would repeat the request for you. And he did…

“Kiss me,” throated he, “Please.”

You shrank back, but he turned out to be quicker. With a splash of strength, unbelievable for the one on the verge of demise, he pulled himself up on the stretcher and caught you in a tight embrace. The kiss was ghastly. Dry, parched lips pressed against yours, and your heart stood still with fright and revulsion. He smelled of blood and tasted like death itself. You struggled till his arms went limp and slipped down your body slowly. 

A trembling hand against your mouth, you staggered back, yet he was already in a stark faint, probably the last one in his life.

You wanted to run and let him die alone. You would have done so, if it hadn’t been for the reason that had always been stronger than emotions with you. If he had enough life in him to bend a healthy person to his will, perhaps, it wasn’t so hopeless as yet. 

Overcoming the untimely nausea, you took a seat on the stretcher by his side and forced yourself to sink into a deep trance. The other you will know what to do.

There would be time to lament your awful first kiss later. 

\+ + +

“I once lived in a human village,” you were stirring a bitter brew in a cracked clay bowl, looking away from your patient, who had a proper bed and a proper separate chamber now, “Healing their children…sometimes grown-ups. They fed me and gave me clothes. One year their cows and goats began to die one by one, and there was a bad harvest at the end of that summer. They blamed it on the stranger, of course. They locked me up in my hut and promised to stone me, if another cow got ill. There was that small boy who let me out at night. I hope nobody saw him. Here, drink it up.”

Haldir. You knew his name now. It was Haldir. It was a miracle you got to hear that name from himself.

It’s been two weeks since he had opened his eyes again, and you had taken a relieved breath, knowing you’d led him out of the immediate danger. He was extremely weak, though, and bedridden. And silent. Little by little you began talking yourself, changing his bandages or preparing another helping of the herbal cure for him. You didn’t know what made you so verbose. It could be his reluctance to speak, which you considered unhealthy and felt like fighting against.

It could be your own wish to talk. A travelling healer, you had joined the party, heading to Helm’s Deep, on your own accord, and were determined to leave it as soon as your help was no longer needed, but you still felt the need in at least some interaction. Giving your all in exchange for someone else’s well-being was a burden. Carrying it required a reward, or at least a recognition.

Or else…It could be that you still couldn’t forget that kiss, and you were awkward, and wished to talk it away, to scatter words over it like fallen leaves and bury it in the back of your mind finally.

And so you spoke. Of your family, that of Mirkwood healers, all of them, distinguished and trusted by the King himself. Of the lives your mother had saved, of the charms your father had weaved. Of one day when it all came crushing down. When the art of none of your family could save the Queen from perishing, and the King, in his grief and anger, banished you all from your home. Of how you were the only one who chose to stay in Middle-Earth and saw your heart sail away with your kin to where you hoped to see them one day.

There was no response. Haldir listened to you attentively, drank your brews with cold obedience and was wordless. You didn’t know if you should be relieved or frustrated by it.

You took the bowl out of his hands and put it on the stand at the bed. It was the moment when you would usually leave him to check on your other patients, mostly human.

“They are leaving today,” said Haldir all of a sudden.

It wasn’t hard to guess whom he was speaking about. The Elves who could endure the road, were returning to the Golden Wood. There was none they left behind, except the one who had seen the worst. You promised them to take care of him, but couldn’t predict how long it would take.

“When am I fit again?” he sounded indifferently, like it wasn’t about his own ability to hold on his feet properly.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, “Not in a week. Not in two.Your wounds…”

He turned away from you, face as impassive. You felt a sharp sting of pity stir in your chest. There had to be some words to console him, but you hadn’t been taught consolation. Only healing. 

And so all you allowed yourself was to check the bandages over his chest and stop yourself from pulling the worse for wear blanket over him just as your fingers were about to close over the edge of it. The last thing you wanted was to humiliate him.

“My brother was better than me,” you told him, as if there had been no questions asked and no answers given, “He often laughed at my slowness…”

Haldir didn’t say a word, when you settled in the armchair next to his bed again and went on with the utterly boring story of your life.

\+ + +

He was sitting on a half-shattered stone bench, slouching in his fine red cloak and his undimmed armour. It was, probably, the first time you saw him fully clad, but his warrior air didn’t deceive you. There were months of recovering ahead of him, it was seen from the sickly pale tint of his skin and the way he held his arm against the injured side awkwardly.

“Allasiel,” he recognized your presence with a small nod. You nodded in return, approaching him in uncertain steps.

“Haldir, I wouldn’t wish to let you go,” you were obliged to say that, although it felt like you could hardly change his mind.

“I must,” he shook his head, holding your gaze intensely, “You’ve done all you could, and I’m grateful for that. But I’m heading home this evening.”

“Varda bless you.” 

It meant you were to leave Helm’s Deep, too, for there was no one else who needed your help here. The thought razed upon you like a fine blade. Strange - you used to be quick on your toes, when it came to new paths before you. 

Haldir’s eyes were still on you, so cuttingly blue it made you wonder how many hearts they had broken. Now, however, he looked broken himself. Here, you couldn’t help him. Someone else would have to mend his spirits from this day on. And it saddened you, too. 

“I feel I must apologize,”

“What for?”

There was no need in asking that. You could easily predict was he meant.

“The kiss,” said he simply, “I took advantage of you. It was unforgivable. A moment of weakness…I humbly beg your pardon.”

Your cheeks grew hot with the blood that rushed to them. You had hoped he’d been too sick to remember anything about it. It would save you both from so much embarrassment.

“I forgive you. You were not yourself,” you forced out, desperately trying to oust the aftertaste of that kiss out of your memory. It still lingered on your lips, and it was still foul.

And bittersweet.

“But now I am,” uttered Haldir with a strange expression. 

You didn’t answer, crumpling the fringe of your shawl between your fingers.

“Where will you go now?” asked he.

“I do not know. I never know. The road will lead me.”

“Allasiel, you…”

“My name is not Allasiel,” you interrupted him, succumbing to the nagging urge inside, only to regret it a moment later, “It’s Y/N.”

You expected some reaction, but there was none. A slight movement of his shoulders, may be, but that was all. Like he hardly cared.

“Y/n…Lotlorien is a blessed land. It’s still safe. You’ll find a home there. Your road is getting dangerous.”

“I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You will be needed there,” reaching out, he took your hands in his in a gesture you somehow knew was uncommon for him, “Come with me.”

You freed your hands and stepped back, scant of breath and unbelieving.

“You saved my life,” he went on, making no more attempts to touch you, “I cannot let you waste yours.”

“I’ve known how to live my life before you,” you retorted.

“So have I. And now I don’t,” said he on a rueful note, “Do you know a remedy for that, my sweet healer?”

There was silence. Hard as you tried, you couldn’t lie to yourself. You’d come to pity him, care for him, and then, gradually, drop by drop, love him, which you thought had been utterly against your nature. You wished not for your love to be reciprocated, you could learn to live with it, but now that he was standing before you so succumbed, your heart was suddenly swelling so unbearably, you needed to do something only to stop it.

You raised your hands and buried them in his hair gently. It was a pleasure to see him flinch and lean towards you for more.

“Kiss me,” you asked him under your breath.

And it wasn’t like that first time at all. Nobody had ever told you what a kiss of a bleeding love should feel like, but you learnt it yourself that very moment. He was still unsure of your response, and the touch of his mouth was chaste and careful, but for you, everything fell into place. His arms were the home you’d lost so long ago and finally found again.

“Will you come with me?” whispered he into your ear, “Say you will.”

“Only to protect you,” you teased him quietly, “Who knows what dangers may befall you on the way.”


End file.
